Further Adventures with Grace


Further Adventures with Grace

Just before midnight, both our mobile phones pinged with a text message. It was from Grace, just as Mark predicted and read, “Thanks, guys. You gave me just what I wanted. Let’s do it again. Msg me.”

“Told you,” Mark said, breathlessly, “Whore couldn’t help herself.”

“Your powers of perception are on point,” I replied as my member was rapidly deflating inside Mark’s twitching arsehole.

“Nothing perceptive about cunts like Grace,” Replied Mark, the intensity in his voice rising again, “They live for alpha males that break them like the wild horses they are.”

I rolled over onto my back, drenched in sweat from my second orgasm of the night; this one was the bonus ball. Mark placed his mobile on the bedside and fell on his back, chest heaving after taking my (diminished) load up his shitter.

“Not sure how we can top what we did to her tonight.” I wondered.

Two hours earlier, Grace held her inaugural gangbang at a motel in Bentley consisting of three over-fifty, overweight cissies, and ourselves. Initially, Grace dominated the betas before receiving an exemplary lesson in tag-team domination from Mark and me, the former leading the degradation and humiliation like a boss. The night ended with multiple golden showers between all six participants before Mark came back to my place to submissively receive hard anal sex in a complete role reversal.

“Between the two of us, we’ll degrade that cunt some more!”

“Shall we respond?”

“No,” replied Mark, “Make the cunt wait!”

“Till when?”

“Until that useless fuck pig gets desperate, real desperate.” He replied, before adding, “Won’t need to wait long.”

“How long?”

“The begging will begin tomorrow,” replied Mark, with supreme confidence, “When it’s ignored, it becomes desperate.”

By Mark referring to Grace as “it”, I was suddenly reminded of Buffalo Bill in the Silence of the Lambs and how he referred to his victims.

“How many bodies are in your basement?” I asked, with a mixture of dry humour and concern.

Mark laughed and reassured me that he did not hate women. He just used them for his pleasure, and in Grace, he recognised a whore that craved degradation. Mark came across as an odd combination of misogynist and Philogynist. Dominating women to the point of hatred when they sought it yet being a submissive cock-loving bottom.

“I need to go,” Said Mark, after a resting silence, “But do you have the strength to do me again?”

“If you breathe life into this,” I replied, flopping my limp cock around in my hand, “Then sure.”

“Great, do me even harder this time!”


Sure enough, Mark’s prescience was rewarded. By the end of the next day, Grace sent out a series of texts to Mark and me. She needed action, and she needed it now, or at the earliest possible opportunity.

Separately, Mark and I conversed to determine what we could or should do. Both of us were chasing a bigger high than our previous single and joint encounters with Grace. For my part, I did not have a single satisfying hook-up with her. My experience with her cunt and arsehole occurred during the gangbang. I would have loved a solo session, but Grace insisted that the next encounter is a threesome.

For his part, Mark was the driving force, and I let him make the arrangements. He asked me what I wanted from Grace’s subsequent degradation. Not having his experience with that sexual sub-genre, but being obsessed with anal sex and golden showers, I simply said that anything future encounter needs to accommodate my kinks.

Mark understood. He shared my kinks and had more experience with those kinks on the female side. As a bottom, Mark craved savage anal sex but sharing a golden had not come up between us. The other positive aspects were that he made no effort to kiss me or require hugs after sex. It was pure, clinical fucking, and he wanted nothing from me in return.

To be fair, it was winter. I lived in a weatherboard house with no internal heating, and my place was bitterly cold. Engaging in piss play, indoors or outdoors, was not enticing. Plus, Mark had not suggested that we engage in that kink. The only time the subject came up was his desire to subject Grace to another hosing down.

Hard anal, DP and drinking urine seemed to be Grace’s basic sexual needs. Vanilla sex was not an option with her. She was open and honest about what she craved and being submissive, Grace regularly begged for it via text message. That degradation was counterbalanced by her beta male fuck friends whom she would humiliate regularly.


Early that next week, I received a text from Mark saying that he was in town and wanted to catch up to discuss Grace’s increasing frequency of pleading texts. He was keen to work out a scenario, place, time, and action options etc. Not anticipating any action, I agreed to meet him at the Grosvenor Hotel at 5 pm, the following work.

It was another stormy night when Mark and I met up. The rain as driving hard and the wind was savage. With luck, we would elazığ escort conclude this meeting and decide on a plan of action before I could go home and bunker down.

When we grabbed our drinks, Mark showed me a series of texts between him and Grace that excluded me. Perhaps being both Asian, Grace felt more confident in sharing intimate texts with a fellow of similar culture? Regardless, the conversation was in English, which was ironic. Mark told me he did not speak any other tongue than English, and we had a good laugh about that.

The conversation was driven by Grace, asking Mark for ideas on how she could be degraded further. I am no expert, but surely five guys pissing on her after her three fuck holes were mercilessly abused seemed degrading enough. The text conversation appeared to show that she needed to descend further into the pit.

The problem was that Mark and I could not conceive of anything other than what she had already received. We sat there in the pub composing responses which seemed not to satisfy Grace. We both agreed that Grace was home, probably on her bed, with a vibrator jammed deep inside one of her holes and masturbating violently with every text-delivered suggestion.

For my part, the back and forth was making me horny. I would drive to her place, and given Grace the degradation, she craved immediately. The weather and my state of intoxication were the two barriers preventing that course of action. My thoughts then drifted to solutions closer to home. Perhaps, Thomas, my Uni fuck friend, might be up for some filthy fun?

Mark’s phone pinged again.

His face drained of colour.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, concerned.

“Erm, perhaps you don’t need to see this answer.”

“With that evasion, of course, I’m going to want to see it!”

I saw the hesitation in Mark’s face, but I also noticed that whatever Grace asked for sexually, Mark could and would supply.

“Show me!”

“Okay,” Replied Mark, with resignation, “But don’t blame me because I didn’t encourage it.’

Mark handed over his phone with the message thread open.


“What the fuck is scat?” I asked Mark, not understanding the term.

Mark laughed at my dullness.

“Basically, Grace asked me, you, us, to shit on her.”

“No, fucking way!”

Mark’s countenance displayed no such disgust. In fact, he looked thoughtful, as if how such a scenario might play out.

“You’re not considering this, are you?”

Snapped out of fantasy, Mark shot me a serious look and replied that he would not think of it. However, it was clear from his gentle smile when his eyes looked back at the text message, that scat was not beyond the bounds of possibility.

Not for me, though. I drained my pint and announced my intention to return home. All sexual arousal demolished.

“Don’t go, yet.” Responded Mark, clearly disappointed, “Let me drive you home.”

Mark and Grace’s conversation that specifically excluded me was heading in a direction I was not prepared to follow. Sure, with a previous girlfriend, anal sex became disgustingly realistic due to her inexperience. Pornos are not real life! However, wanting to shit on someone intentionally was beyond the pale.

Mark and I lived in opposite directions of the CBD, and it seemed unfair to have him divert to my place, so I suggested a compromise. Mark agreed to drop me off at McCallum Park whereby I could get the bus home, via the Broken Hill Hotel, and Mark could head down the Canning Highway to Fremantle.

Minutes later, we pulled up. The storm was raging hard, and it was not very warm outdoors. Mark realised something was bugging me, but I was not all that talkative. However, when his hand dropped onto my crotch, his intentions were clear. All thoughts of Grace and scat disappeared.

Mark parked the car, and, through the storm, we made it to a small stone-built structure that allowed shelter from the elements.

“Drop your pants,” Ordered Mark breathlessly.

I unclasped my belt and shuffled my jeans partially down my legs. Not too far because it was so cold, and the shelter did nothing about the wind which howled through the two entrances.

Mark grabbed my hips and bent down, taking my cock deep inside his spacious and accommodating mouth.

“Shit,” I hissed at the pleasure, “That’s it.”

With my balls cupped in one hand, Mark’s other stroked my shaft while his tongue and lips massaged my bell end. He had a fantastic technique that could quickly get me off, but he always held back because he desperately craved an anal hammering. Depending on the angle and the ferocity, he could orgasm without touching his hard cock. Mark said those orgasms were the best.

“Any more of that and I’ll come in your mouth.”

Mark smacked his lips, stood erect and undid his trousers.

“That’s round two,” He smiled, “As you well know.”

Spinning around, Mark bent over with his hands resting on a timber bench. With little to no light, I felt my way to his anus. I saw the dark outline of his monstrously hard cock but knew better elvankent escort than to touch it.

Dropping to my knees, I spread his cheeks and administered a gloriously sloppy rim job which gave us both enormous pleasures. Mark was mostly hair-free across his Asian physique, but he paid particular attention to his man-parts and was far more effective at it than I was. There was not a single hair on, or around, his dirty hole. It made tonguing his shitter an absolute joy.

“You need to fuck me now!” Mark spluttered after receiving a few minutes of rimming.

I stood up, spat on my shaft, pressed the head against his slick hole and pushed.

“Fuck!” Hissed Mark as I penetrated his Asian arsehole.

He was very relaxed tonight, and I had no trouble feeding him my entire length.

“Jeebus, your arsehole feels good tonight,” I moaned, as his muscle twitched against my meat.

“You know what to do!”

With that, I rocked my hips back and forth, slowly at first before building up more significant momentum.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Encouraged Mark.

The near absence of light made this experience visceral in a unique way. Not seeing the action somehow heightened the pleasure for both of us because Mark orgasmed very quickly, even for him.

His orgasm ejected me from his bung while he panted in near exhaustion. At that moment, I would have loved nothing better than to suck on his twitching member and maybe lick up his sperm, but he was strictly bottom, and he received. My other gay lover switched, and I thought of him at that moment. It was only 7 pm and this awful night was young.

“Let me suck you off,” Said Mark, after he recovered from being buggered for such a short amount of time.

“So, I get two rounds for the price of one?” I joked, massaging my greasy cock.

Without answering, Mark took me deep inside my mouth and worked me hard until I spat out the contents of my balls down his throat. He swallowed without splutter or complaint.

“That was great,” Said Mark as he stood up and tugged his trousers back into position.

My urge to kiss him was great, but I was too scared of his likely volatile reaction. As a bottom, he gave so much pleasure that it seemed mean-spirited not to give something back.

“We should do this again sometime,” I said, doing the same.

“Not before we bust that cunt!” Replied Mark with anger rising.

“No scat,” I reminded him.

Mark laughed, and we departed without many more words.

As I watched his car drive off down the highway, something compelled me to return to the shelter. I pulled out my phone and selected the light. Looking around, I located Mark’s jism splashed across the bench slats. Again, feeling compelled by an external force, I scooped up that fluid and drank it down. I felt so debased, so scummy that my cock quickly hardened. Without rational thought, I tongued up the rest of Mark’s deposit which gave me an inkling into what it is like being thoroughly degraded.

And I liked it.

Suddenly hearing voices, I made a discrete exit and headed up Albany Highway towards the Broken Hill Hotel, utilising every available shelter that was available.

As usual, the pub was making a brisk trade, and the landlord had my drink selected before I got to the counter. I was lucky enough to secure a seat at the bar that allowed me discreet views of the patrons. Distracted, I tried to read a book that was in my backpack but could not stop thinking about that encounter with Mark and what I did afterwards.

My reverie was interrupted by a woman, elbowing her way to the bar. She was wearing an all-black Ella Bache uniform, was thin with big tits, black hair, a pretty face but topped with jam-jar strength glasses.

“What are you reading?”

I showed her the book, and she flicked through it, not understanding the subject at all but we chatted for a few minutes before she asked for my name. She was nothing but keen.

“Listen, I can’t do much tonight but give me your number, and I’ll call you,” She yelled over the din.

With numbers exchanged, she kissed me on the lips and grabbed my crotched.

“I’ll call you,” She said, leaving as abruptly as she arrived.

I gave serious consideration to texting Thomas but decided against it on account of the weather. Finishing my drink, I exited the pub and hailed a cab for the short ride home.


Sometime early the next week, Mark asked me if I wanted to meet up for a quick drink.

“Sure,” I replied, “The Lucky Shag?”

“I had a session with Grace yesterday,” Beamed Mark as he sat down next to me, facing the river on a clear but chilly lunchtime.

Jealousy pinched me that I had not been included.

Sensing my reaction, Mark disarmed me by telling me that I would not have wanted to be involved even if I was asked.

“Scat?” I asked with disgust.

“Not quite,” Came Mark’s amused reply.

“Then what?”

“I made her do a blumpkin,” Laughed Mark.

“What?” I said in frustration, “What’s a blumpkin?”

“I made that eryaman escort worthless cunt blow my cock while I took a shit on the toilet!”

If there was beer in my mouth at that moment, I would have spat it out in surprise. The pride displayed on Mark’s face was priceless.

“You did what?”

“Just that,” Mark explained, “The cunt was reluctant, but she did it.”

“How was it for you?”

“When I bust my nuts in her mouth, she puked up all over my groin, and ran from the toilet.”

“I don’t blame her,” I replied, sceptical of his achievement.

“Yes, but coming and crimping one off was a unique experience,” Mark was outright laughing now.

“Then what happened?”

“I made her clean my arse with her tongue.”

“She willingly did that?” I was now suspect of Mark’s story.

I simply could not entertain any women debasing herself in such a manner.

“Orgasmed too,” He boasted.

“How did you deduce that?”

“She pissed all over my bathroom floor,” Mark proudly replied.

“Then, I suppose, you pissed all over her?”

Mark nodded in confirmation.

The whole experience seemed surreal and fantastic for it to be true, but Mark’s retelling was consistent, and he even showed me texts between them discussing it.

“Kicked her out on the kerb afterwards,” Mark gleefully added, “Naked too. Tossed the clothes out after her.”

“Then what happened?”

“The cunt dressed on the pavement, dripping in piss with shit on her lips, then drove away.”

“Bet she hasn’t contacted you since,” I said.

“Cunt thanked for it as soon as she got home.” Mark showed me the text.

I sat there, drinking my pint, working this over in my mind, but I remained sceptical. There was zero probability of me even contemplating such filth with such sick subject matter that I felt no arousal at all, more disgust.

“The cunt wants another threesome,” Mark interrupted.

“Scat is just not for me, mate!”

“We know that,” Mark offered, “She just wants us to use until she can’t take anymore.”

I could not get the image of Grace throating Mark’s cock while he was taking a shit and then cleaning up his arsehole afterwards.

“That means lots of anal sex and golden showers,” Said Mark, leaning in to disabuse my concerns.

“Ah, okay.”

We clinked glasses and exchanged knowing glances.


So, the night for a wet threesome rematch had arrived, and the three of us met at Mark’s modest house near the port of Fremantle.

Grace seemed decidedly nervous. For several days, she had been bombarded with texts asking us what we would be doing. Mark replied with vague reassurances and simply kept repeating the date, time and location.

Mark and I were relaxed because we had spent the afternoon drinking and scheming in the port town about what we would do to Grace.

“We’ve got an hour before that cunt arrives,” Said Mark, finishing his drink and placing his glass on the pub table, “Let’s get home and shower.”

In Mark’s bathroom, I watched with a growing sense of arousal as he washed his shapely frame. I thought back to that encounter in the park and how I wanted to do to him some of the things I let Thomas, my other lover, do to me. I knew, though, that Mark would not allow it, but my desire for him made for some great wank fantasies.

“Save that,” Mark ordered as he came out of the shower and noticed my hard-on.

“No interest?” I asked, trying to tempt him into an early bird.

“Maybe later,” He offered, “After we’ve destroyed that fucking cunt!”

“Total destruction?’

“Mate, if that cunt isn’t crawling out the door begging for her clothes and car keys then we’ve failed.”

There was a dark line we were navigating between consensual submission and rape, but I took comfort from Mark’s seeming confidence, despite his aggressive, misogynistic language.

“You know,” Continued Mark, “That bitch is so fucked up that what we do for her is like a junkie getting a fix.”

“How does somebody get that way?” I asked, more rhetorically than purposefully.

“Who the fuck knows?” Mark dismissed, not caring, “Cunt was probably born that way.”

Thinking back to my time with Jacinta and Peter, I understood certain people have a desire to experience dark fantasies, even bordering on the pseudo-violent or the extreme, but Grace was the epitome.

After finishing my shower, I felt the familiar pinch in my bladder indicating the need to piss, but I had to save it, for tonight Grace was the toilet.

Neither Mark nor I bothered with clothes, and we were both semi-hard. My nerves were taut with anticipation as we exited the bathroom. Mark stopped by his linen cupboard and grabbed a couple of towels which he placed on the kitchen bench.

I grabbed the offered beer and sat on the couch opposite the kitchen while Mark opened a bottle of wine and grabbed a glass for Grace.

At the appointed hour, there came a soft knock on Mark’s door. In walked Grace, she was mustering as much confidence as possible, which was not a lot.

She wore a long grey coat, almost military in its design. The look of subservience to Mark and I was complete as she shuffled towards the kitchen. She could barely look either of us in the eye. What was odd, though, was that Grace was trembling, not in fear, but in baited anticipation.

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